At this cruel reminder David shrank back as from a blow, and never uttered another word during the rest of the meal.  The iron was entering into his soul, and he was beginning to understand something of the ignominy he was to endure at this house.

“Now look here,” Jim began when they were through with dinner, “I’ve a big pile of wood out there in the yard, an’ I want ye to tote it into the wood-house an’ pile it up.  I’ll show ye where to put it.  I’m gittin’ mighty little fer yer keep, an’ I expect ye to git a hustle on to help pay fer yer grub an’ washin’.”

“Don’t be too hard on him, Jim,” Mrs. Goban remarked.  “He doesn’t look very strong.”

“Don’t ye worry, Kitty, I’ll attend to that.  I know a wrinkle or two.”

David was accordingly taken to the wood-house and Jim explained to him how and where he was to pile the wood.  “Ye needn’t kill yerself,” he told him in conclusion.  “But I want ye to keep busy, fer when that job’s through I’ve got something else on hand.  Ye can sit down when ye feel a little tired, but don’t sit too long or too often, see?”

For about half an hour David worked patiently at the wood, piling it as neatly as possible.  The work was not hard, and he was quite satisfied with his task.  He was alone, anyway, and could think about his beloved falls.  His hands, however, were soft, and ere long they were bruised and bleeding from the rough sticks.  At length a sharp splinter entered his finger, and he sat down upon a stick to pull it out.  In trying to do this, it broke off leaving a portion deeply embedded in the flesh, which caused him considerable pain.  Not knowing what to do, he sat looking upon the finger in a dejected manner.

“What’s the matter?  You seem to be in trouble.”

At these words David looked quickly around, and saw a young girl standing by his side.  Though her dress was old and worn, her face was bright, and her eyes sparkled with interest.

“Here, let me take that splinter out,” she ordered, as she sat down by his side, and drawing forth a needle, began to probe into the flesh.  “There, I’ve got it!” she cried in triumph.  “My! it’s a monster.  You’ll have to be more careful after this.  You should have gloves.”

“Thank you very much,” David replied.  “To whom am I indebted for this kindness?”

“Oh, I’m Betty Bean, that’s all.”

“And you live here?”

“No.  I’m just dying here.”

“Dying!” David exclaimed in surprise.  “Why, you don’t look like a dying person.”

“Maybe I don’t, but I am.  I’m just staying here because I have to.  My mother’s a widow, and I want to earn some money to help her, and as this was the only place I could get I had to take it.”

“So you do not like it, then?”

“Who would like any place where there is such a brute as Jim Goban?  My, I’m sorry for you.  To think of any man getting into his clutches.”